


Making a Scene

by PatrickMcKinney



Series: Waiting [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:38:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatrickMcKinney/pseuds/PatrickMcKinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home. John's POV this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Scene

John spotted him the moment he stepped into the terminal. He burned like a flame in the crowd of ordinary people. Somehow he was managing to lounge in the uncomfortable plastic airport seat, long legs crossed, drumming his slender fingers on the armrest. As the first uniformed soldiers stepped off the plane, he saw Sherlock leap to his feet, startling the people around him. Those grey eyes flicked across the stream of people, searching him out, and his hands clenched and unclenched nervously.

In the few moments before he was noticed, John could read Sherlock like a book. He knew him. He knew him like no one else ever would: knew the set of that mouth, the slight quirk of the eyebrows, the long-lashed sharpness of those eyes. He even knew the lines of worry or stress that hadn't been there six months ago.

Then Sherlock spotted him and smiled, and suddenly John was pushing past his fellow soldiers, moving as fast as he could in the crowd, unable to stand one more second away from the beautiful man waiting for him. He saw the flicker of uncertainty in Sherlock's face but he was damned if he was going to let _propriety_ of all things stop him.

He heard Sherlock's soft 'Oof' as he flung his arms around his waist, nearly bowling them both over, felt those long arms slide around his shoulders, a sharp nose buried in his hair. Sherlock smelled of chemicals smoke (and bitter almonds? He'd have to talk to Sherlock about playing with cyanide in the flat) and wool and cold air and danger and **home**.

They were silent for a moment, only the beating of Sherlock's heart in his ears, then a soft voice and warm breath on his neck.

"I missed you." Sherlock's long arms tightened around John as he looked up and grinned. He didn't bother to reply, instead leaning up to press a soft lingering kiss to that ridiculously clever mouth.

As they pulled away, John could hear some scandalized squawking and giggles from the people around them. Sherlock smirked wickedly.

"Doctor," he said in tones of mock indignation "you are making a scene."

John laughed. "Yeah, well, it was my turn anyway."


End file.
